


who can say if your love grows as your heart chose, only time

by Duck_Life



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, M/M, Pillow Talk, gratuitous bath salts, jon and martin's downton abbey getaway package, scottish safehouse 2 electric boogaloo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Stinky boys take a bath.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	who can say if your love grows as your heart chose, only time

There is sunshine, in this place. 

Somehow, there is sunshine. Martin’s pretty sure there isn’t even a sun. But there’s sunshine, and warm blankets and clocks that move at just the rate they’re supposed to. There is the smell of sizzling sausage and eggs and gravy drifting from a kitchen down the hall. Any moment now, Martin and Jon will get up and go eat  _ real _ food. 

(They  _ will  _ get up… five more minutes, Martin decides. Annabelle Cane doesn’t seem the type to bring them breakfast in bed. Truth be had, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t want her to.) 

Martin watches the impossible sunshine bathe Jon in a golden glow. He watches Jon’s eyelashes flutter, and in an absurd moment he decides that even if this is all an elaborate trap (which, really, it probably is), he doesn’t care. It’s a worthwhile tradeoff, whatever happens, to have this right now. This peace. This joy. 

Jon opens his eyes and smiles at him. “Hello.”

“Good morning,” Martin says. “How do you feel?”

“Quiet.” Jon stretches out, joints popping and cracking, before curling in closer to Martin. “It’s like I’ve been standing in a room full of 15,000 television sets all playing different channels. And now someone’s finally hit mute.”

“Sounds peaceful.”

“It… is,” Jon says, looking just as baffled as he is relieved. “You know, I… I think I had a normal dream?”

“Really!” Martin says, intrigued and delighted. “Was I in it?”

“No,” Jon says, thinking. “No, I’m trying to remember, ah… Oh.” He laughs gently. “You called me Scooby. Yesterday, you called me Scooby.”

“I did.”

“So that was on my mind, then,” he says. “Which explains why I dreamt that Velma Dinkley was taking me to prom.” 

“You  _ didn’t _ .”

“I did!” Jon says. “We never made it, though, kept getting side-tracked… she lost her glasses, of course, and then there was a mystery… Also I think there might have been giant bees.” 

“Wow,” Martin says, poking Jon’s tummy. “Can’t believe this is what I have to compete with. Velma from Scooby-Doo.” 

“She’s got nothing on you.” Jon rolls closer to kiss Martin, and then he wrinkles his nose. 

“What?”

“Morning breath,” Jon says, looking delighted. “God, it’s… I don’t think you’ve actually  _ smelled _ like anything in… ages. And now...”

“Wow. Thanks,” Martin says flatly. “You’re not exactly a bed of roses.”

“No, I stink, too,” Jon says, absolutely overjoyed. “Bath?”

“Sounds wonderful.” 

* * *

The bathroom is well-stocked. Martin almost gets overwhelmed trying to choose between four different kinds of toothpaste and three different scented hand soaps. Once he’s relieved himself and taken care of his morning breath, it’s time to do something about the muck and grime clinging to his clothes, hair and skin. 

“Starting to regret sitting on that couch back in the Extinction’s domain?” Jon asks wryly, peeling off his weather-worn Henley. 

“Not a bit,” Martin says, stubborn as always. The weirdest thing about stripping in front of Jon is that it isn’t weird at all. Not like it’s the first time they’ve seen each other naked, it’s just… it’s the first time in a long time. 

It’s like for just a moment they can slip back into the nebulous peace they had for two weeks before the end of the world. Like pressing pause on the apocalypse. Martin tosses his filthy clothes in one corner and turns the taps, beginning to fill up the deep tub. While he waits, he looks around the room. 

Someone— Mikaele? Annabelle? The staff that used to work here?— filled the place with more bath products and soaps and bombs than Martin knows what to do with. “Any allergies to bath salts?” 

“None that I know of,” Jon says, and then he lets out a startled laugh. “Oh, I really don’t know. I never thought about it before, and now I… ha! I have no way of knowing.” 

“Mmkay,” Martin says, sprinkling a liberal amount of bath salts into the rising water. “Well, if you don’t like them, I can drain the tub and we can start over.” 

“Smells good,” Jon says, leaning over the tub and inhaling. “Can’t remember the last time I took a bath, even before… everything. Didn’t have a tub in my old flat.” 

“Mm,” Martin says, sticking his hand in to check the temperature. He makes an adjustment to the taps and goes back to looking through the various soaps and loofahs. (He makes a point not to even consider the array of sweet-smelling lotions.) “I used to like baths. Nice way to relax, y’know? I’d just… crank up Enya and fix up a little plate of cheese for myself, just chill out until I got all pruny.”

Jon is smiling at him. “You ate cheese in the tub?”

“Listen, you never feel fancier than when you’re kicked back in a bubble bath snacking on individually packaged parmesan cheese,” Martin declares. “It’s the little pleasures, Jon.” 

“Maybe we can have Annabelle make us a charcuterie board.” 

Martin shudders. “Knowing her, the prosciutto would probably be made of spiders.” 

“Almost definitely.” 

Martin switches off the taps. “Bath’s ready.” 

Climbing into the bathtub is a little awkward, with water sloshing over the side when they clamber in. With them on either end of the tub, their knees tangle together. Martin scoots back, trying to figure out the most comfortable position for both of them. He’s worried for a moment that they might be too cramped, but then Jon tilts his head back and lets out a satisfied sigh, his curtain of dark hair sinking back into the water. 

“Good?” 

“Good,” Jon confirms, a lazy smile gracing his face as he lets the bath salts do their magic. “I feel like a teabag.” 

“Perfect,” Martin laughs, blowing bubbles in his direction. “Just a big cup of Jon-and-Martin tea.” 

“My favorite.” Jon reaches for a bar of soap and starts lathering up, watching the water gradually grow darker and darker as the dirt and grit wash away. The two of them don’t talk much, just enjoy the warmth and the water. 

They’re both aware that whatever’s going on here has a time limit. The bathwater is getting dirty fast. Their toes are wrinkly. They’re hungry. Beyond these old stone walls and beautiful gardens, the end of the world rages on. They both know they can’t live in this moment forever. 

Martin works shampoo into Jon’s hair and sings under his breath, out of tune,  _ Who can say where the road goes, where the day flows, only time _ . Jon leans into his hands and lets the tension and grime seep away from him. 

“How do you feel?” Martin asks Jon. 

“... Human.” 


End file.
